End Run
by spatialcowboy
Summary: Experience the collapse of the Federation from the boots of Ensign Stelly, a greenhorn serving aboard the unlikely vessel chosen to navigate hostile space and cripple the Rebels. An experienced captain guides the rookie crew, but space is dangerous, and enemies lurk in plain sight. Raw, captivating, and immersive, End Run provides the thrills - and tragedies - of war in space.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I am a somewhat accomplished academic writer, but am totally new to the craft of creative writing - that said, any and all constructive criticism is something I appreciate deeply and helps me make this hopefully lengthy saga a great adventure for everyone!

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I stumble, hand reaching out to brace against the cool metallic wall of the windowless hallway as the ship is hit with a volley of laser shots. The hull groans in protest, and I hasten towards the far door as the pitching subsides. With a soft hissing, the doors part before me, and I hesitate for a moment as smoke rushes out of the dark room. I see a maintenance panel illuminated by fire from within the console. Taking one last clean breath, I charge in, kneeling quickly under the controls. The panel comes away easily, red hot in my gloved hands. The electrical fire surges in the freshly oxygenated air.

The advantage to having a hastily retrofitted cruiser is that tools are always on hand, given these incidents are frequent. However, I often fumble with the eclectic collection of tools which are either outdated or not meant for human hands. Attempting to bring this to the attention of the captain was met with a stern rebuff and a mumbled "greenhorn." Thankfully, the fire extinguisher is one piece of equipment we have that meets with Federation standards, and I dispatch the blaze promptly. I crawl forward to examine the inner workings of the console, running my eyes over the components, hoping for an obvious problem.

As I begin to reach for a power coupling, the ship bucks again, the force ramming my head into the sharp edge of the open panel. Righting myself, I hear two subsequent shots land, and the vessel yaws dramatically. Distant footsteps and shouting reach my ears. O'Regan will have left his post to repair the oxygen generator. Even with a Mantis cruiser hammering our tin can, I find myself avoiding my task of repairing the shield generator.

Although I would never admit it, I feel the responsibility of serving on his ship, with its glorious mission and tiny compliment, to be far beyond my current level of competence. I was plucked straight from my graduating class, with unexceptional credentials, and sent to "save the Federation." And even among shipmates with similar stories, it is my personal assessment that I am the weakest, the least skilled, the least deserving of my position.

I force my attention back to the mess of wiring in front of me, the sterile white light pouring in from the open doorway dimly illuminating my task and throwing confusing shadows. My eyes dart frantically, but cannot fixate on anything as panic begins to grip me. I feel a creeping warmth trail down my forehead, stinging my eye. More shots land near my section of the hull and the lights in the hall flicker, briefly casting me in complete darkness. I wipe my face with the back of my glove, and to my horror, the white forearm of my suit is now streaked with blood. As I stare in abject terror at the shiny red patch, the floor suddenly launches at me with a colossal blast, throwing me remorselessly into the opposing wall. I slump limply to the floor.

Everything is dark and I seem to exist separately from my body. I register a loud hissing over my own heartbeat, hammering deafeningly in my ears. Breathing is difficult now, although I can feel my chest heaving wildly. A figure appears silhouetted in the doorway. I seem to float down the brightness of the hallway. My legs drag lamely over the steel plates. A last memory, before a peaceful emptiness engulfs me: I hear the unmistakable voice of the captain shouting, "Brace to jump!"


	2. Chapter 2

I am alone in the medbay, recumbent under an intense light. An oxygen mask has been hastily strapped to my face, partially obstructing of my vision. Thankfully an IV seems to have been put in with more care, and a clear liquid flows ice cold into my arm. My head sinks slowly to the side, and the medical display fades in and out of focus; all I can fathom is that every possible indicator is flashing red. I must be dying. The emptiness is again upon me.

After an unknown stretch of time, voices intrude into my void, at first a dull murmur, becoming clearer. Though they are familiar to me, I am too lost to identify them.

"My god, it was close, sir. The missile breached the shield room and the air was nigh unbreathable when I got there."

"You did a fine job, O'Regan. The Mantis had us on the back foot, for which I take full responsibility. Have you effected repairs?"

"Aye. sir. The ships' systems are fully operational. The hull though - we're an egg ready to crack."

A pause, as footsteps track around me. Someone sighs heavily.

"The ion storm crippled our defenses. The treachery of space almost killed a crewman. I cannot abide it."

Footsteps move to join the first pair. They must be at the window.

"Aye, space is a dark lady."

A long silence follows.

"O'Regan, you will remain here with Stelly. Contact me when we are ready to jump."

"Aye, sir."

More time passes in silence before I find the strength to open my eyes. O'Regan sits nearby with one leg crossed, reading an engineering manual intently. I take the opportunity to observe him more closely than I have before. Even at a young age, practically the same as myself, his red-blonde hair has begun to recede, leaving a large widow's peak with a short curl at the front which brushes his forehead. In the military fashion it is cropped close. Although his brow is furrowed in concentration, his face still has as many creases as a man twice his age, deep bags a light blue-purple under his gray eyes. Here, sitting in complete silence and ignorant of my gaze, he still gives the impression of trustworthiness; his honest nature permeates his worn exterior.

Perhaps sensing my eyes on him, he looks up slowly, and upon seeing me awake, smiles warmly. He claps the book shut and stands.

"Stelly!" he exclaims jovially. I smile back weakly. "Managed to get me to do your repair work, eh?" He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. The med-bots flicker over me, hard at work repairing my damaged tissues. My vital signs rise slowly on the screen behind O'Regan.

In a few hours I am as whole as I was before the attack. O'Regan accompanies me to my station in the weapons room, and opens a comm channel to the captain.

"We're all right as rain here, Captain!" he says with a wink to me. I flash a smile, but mask my nervousness by pretending to examine my control screen.

"Very good then. Prepare to jump," the captain replies. The communication ends with a series of tones. O'Regan slaps me on the back, jostling me, and I wave meekly as he steps back to the engine room. Within seconds the floor begins to vibrate and I hear the FTL drive pitching up as our little tin can begins to hurtle towards the next beacon.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as we exit hyperspace I hurry to pull up the sensor information. No ion storm. I let out a shaky breath. The captain's voice cuts in through the panel. "We have engaged Slug slavers. Charge weapons, full shields." I divert all available from the reactor to the weapons and shields. Our small crew of three is almost skeletal, and the responsibilities of shield control and sensors have fallen to me. My eyes flash between the systems indicators crowding my screen.

As soon as weapons show green I fire one of the weak missiles we were given at the wildly painted cruiser, the mark of a pirate. It lands accurately and I whoop and leap out of my chair involuntarily. Embarrassed, I hasten to retake my seat, but O'Regan doesn't let the moment pass.

"Bugger 'em, Stelly!" he yells from the adjoining room. A genuine smile warms my face.

A warning indicator beeps rapidly as the ship shudders slightly. A weak laser burst has temporarily disabled the shield, but it recharges without any additional shots landing. Their weapons are weak, and I feel a strange power in my gut as I become certain of victory.

The battle continues and slowly the Slug ship begins to drift lamely in space, looking more lifeless with each shot. The power I felt moments ago has waned and a certain trepidation creeps in. On the sensor screen I watch as the remaining crew scramble frantically to put out fires and repair systems, although to my omniscient eye it looks as though their efforts will ultimately be in vain. My hand hesitates over the weapon controls.

A short message pipes through from the captain: "Hold fire."

I sink back in my chair, watching the sensor screen. The opposing crew has gathered on the bridge of the crippled ship. Soon, the ship-wide intercom echoes, "This is the captain. Stand down from battle stations. Report to common room for crew assignments."

I stand in the doorway to the engine room, observing O'Regan route the controls to the bridge.

"Crew assignments?"

O'Regan shrugs as he finishes his task. With one last tap to the screen, he turns and joins me in the doorway. We trot down the hallway briskly.

"We're all assigned as far as I know. Unless you've been reassigned to trash duty," he says, bumping me and laughing. I shove him back playfully. "Unless we've got company."

I'm unable to question him further before we reach the door to the common room. It slides open, the captain standing with his back to the door. His imposing presence is enough to drain the smiles from our faces and we stand stiffly at attention as the doors close behind us.

"Ensigns," he says, pausing slightly. As he turns around, he extends one arm, gesturing behind him. "Meet your new crew mate."


End file.
